Welcome to Survival of the Fittest, a RPing board loosely based off of Koshun Takami's Battle Royale, with its own unique plot and spin on the 'deadly game'. We've been around quite a while, and are now in our thirteenth year, so don't worry about us going anywhere any time soon!

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You hate kings and you think kings are really stupid. They are petty, bossy tyrants and are really full of themselves and are basically awful in every way.

Posts:

310

Group:

Members

Member

#305

Joined:

December 31, 2008

Flagship Character:

it was always Charlie

((Jeremy Franco continued from The Beggar King))

Sky painted a nice shade of red on the first evening of the rest of Jeremy's life, little grin on his face as he took a good long look at it. Yeah, shit, it looked nice. All symbolic and shit, all sorts of symbolism up in that bitch. Wasn't exactly clear what it was supposed to be a symbol for (Jeremy didn't really know how symbolism worked), but it was obvious that he had to keep looking at it long as he could. Might be the last one he saw, right? First time he'd really said that to himself, because, well... first time he'd come to terms with the idea of a swiftly approaching mortality? Epiphanies and shit, owing to his little heart-to-heart with Danya?

Also, the death helicopter. Those things tend to remind you of impending mortality.

Yeah, well, fuck the death helicopter. Jeremy had a crew now, and if it was gonna be them against whoever was coming in that chopper, then shit couldn't be too rough. Because Jeremy Franco- and feel free to check the record on this because you will find several pieces of supporting evidence filed in the appropriate places- got shit done.

So he took his eyes off the sun just before it slipped past the horizon, put his game face on. Picked up a little slip of paper with a little bit of scribbled magic on it. Something from Liz, who'da thunk it. Something that, if he was gonna make it past these next few hours and this next one potential-deadly-encounter-with-heavily-armed-terrorists, might just make a miracle or two happen.

Hi, I'm Jeremy Franco of J. Franco and Associates. Would you like to buy a miracle today?

Hahaha fuck yeah, nice ring to it.

So there were these other people here, and they were... well, God knows why they were along for the ride. Liz had never really seemed that... magnetic? Back off, assholes, Jeremy was into her before she was cool. Get it? Into her? Here, if you don't get the wordplay there, allow Jeremy to explai-

Point is, they were there. And they all had this look of grim fucking determination, so, well, fuck. Looked like they'd already all made their inspirational speeches to themselves, shouted out their serious-as-fuck battle cries in their head. Which meant there was a nice void, maybe, for Jeremy to fill with a not-really-serious-as-fuck battle cry.

“Just for the record, boys and girls, anyone who kills a terrorist gets a 40% discount at J. Franco and Associates.”

That. Will motivate. Those fuckers.

And so, feeling motivated motivated motivated as he'd ever felt, Jeremy took point on the Let's follow Liz into the scary tunnels! expedition and drew his trusty sword cane.

You hate kings and you think kings are really stupid. They are petty, bossy tyrants and are really full of themselves and are basically awful in every way.

Posts:

310

Group:

Members

Member

#305

Joined:

December 31, 2008

Flagship Character:

it was always Charlie

See, Jeremy was no stranger to death threats. Can't hardly count how many times he was in the middle of a joke and someone told him to just shut the fuck up or I will kill the shit out of you, can't hardly count how many times he was back in action, yakking away, maybe thirty seconds after hearing that. He was pretty zen about that kind of thing, pretty forgiving. Death threats weren't something to be feared, they were something to be expected. Fuck, even welcomed. They were a sign that things were operating as usual. You say you wanna kill Jeremy? Well daaaaamn, son, pull up a seat and you guys can work this out. Just keep your wits about you or you're gonna accidentally buy a 12-pack of Doritos.

The terrorists did not look like they would be buying any Doritos today.

Which was just as well, since Jeremy didn't have any. And guess what, assholes, you are not preferred clientele. So even if he were to magically receive a shipment out of the sky right now (which you would have to admit would be totally awesome if he did), they were gonna go to someone else. And the terrorists would each shed a single tear and Jeremy would not give a single fuck.

Okay, okay, maybe too zen about this right now. Maybe these terrorists and their death threats and their countdown... maybe they meant something. Maybe Garrett, telling him that he should get the fuck out of here right now (oh and by the way Garrett, Jeremy doesn't really mind the “do whatever the fuck you want, honestly” part, since he fully admits that you have no reason right now to think he's anything other than a useless asshole), meant something. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe...

Was it a dick move to just run off now? A dick move to Liz? Maybe, maybe, but maybe not. It was... okay. First off, an admission: Jeremy knows full well that anything he says here is gonna sound like pathetic attempts to rationalize saving his own ass. Second off: fuck that admission. You wanna disagree with any of Jeremy's points, go ahead. Just try it, and he will rhetorically kill the shit out of you.

See, staying here and trying to protect Liz wasn't gonna do shit. He couldn't take a terrorist and he couldn't even distract a terrorist. He just didn't have enough in his arsenal to even be an annoyance to a bunch of assholes with guns. He physically stands in the way, he gets shot or his head explodes. He tries to lead them astray, they refuse to give any fucks about him and just keep going after Liz. Nothing in his arsenal at all. So staying and delaying the terrorists was a great plan, provided his goal was to be a giant ostentatiously suicidal douche.

That wasn't really on the agenda.

Because fuck all that noise, he still had a miracle up his sleeve. And when someone gives you one of those, you don't look it in the mouth and you sure as fuck don't get yourself killed straight away. You don't, Jeremy, you don't, you just don't. You live on- yeah, yeah, just a few days more and then you're probably dead anyway, who gives a fuck- and you start to actually implement those four-dollar words you're promising. Miracle. Philanthropy. Nice-sounding shit like that.

You make those words happen, Jeremy Franco. You bring them to this godforsaken island and you burn them across the sky till everyone sees them, everyone thinks them, everyone believes them.